


Champagne Room

by YukisGlasses



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 18OI AU Week 2019: Day 2, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, College Student Victor Nikiforov, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, Fluff, Hero Worship, Language Kink, Light BDSM, Lingerie, M/M, Mutual Pining, Power Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Rough Sex, Strip Tease, Stripper Katsuki Yuuri, Tie Kink, Top Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov's Foot Fetish, and Victuuri is still thirsty as ever, eros yuuri, no beta we die like men, they all still skate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-04-07 18:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19090345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukisGlasses/pseuds/YukisGlasses
Summary: After Yuuri loses his scholarship due to a drunken fuck-up, he's no longer able to afford a coach, rink fees, tuition, and time at the pole studio that's replaced his traditional weight training. Determined to help his friend in the pursuit of hanging onto his skating career, Yuuri's roommate makes a suggestion. “Keep the pole practice, but get paid for it instead. We’ll do it together. I have a friend who used to work at the club downtown!”That’s how he and Phichit end up spending four nights a week shaking their ass for cold, hard cash. Coincidentally, it's also exactly how Katsuki Yuuri ends up on the lap of Men's Figure Skating Champion, Victor Nikiforov.





	1. An Hour to Ourselves

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my first text-based contribution to the YOI fandom! This horny mess was written for 18OI AU Week 2019: Day 2. This is my first fic (as well as unbeta’d, lord help) so please excuse anything minor and hit me up if there’re any glaring errors.
> 
> Big thanks to everyone on the [18+!!! on ICE](https://discord.gg/jRXfSXc) server for all of their encouragement and a big shout out to [Aurone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurone/pseuds/Aurone) for hosting this event! If you're interested in a super supportive community and are grown (over 18) come on over and act a fool with us!
> 
> The theme for day 2 is School/College, so while I acknowledge that the idea of Victor and Chris getting graduate degrees while remaining competitive skaters is insane, I took creative liberties for my own self-indulgent tendencies. I live for a good sex worker Yuuri and the ex-stripper in me was just dying to write my own. 
> 
> NSFW art at the bottom is by me! If you enjoy it, I'd appreciate you checking me out on [ Twitter ](https://twitter.com/yukisglasses) and/or [ Tumblr. ](https://yukisglasses.tumblr.com) Thanks for reading!

“I can’t believe I almost let you stay home sick.” Phichit paused in his eyeliner application to emphasize the last word with air quotes. Yuuri had planned to play hooky from work that evening. At least, that was until Phichit had found him bundled up on the couch playing Playstation. “You can’t call out tonight,” his roommate had scolded. “The Red Wings have a game tonight, so you know there’ll be good money after it’s over.”

Yuuri detested working nights that were overly crowded, but Phich was right. It was a necessary evil and it’d be stupid to stay home when rent was due next week. So Yuuri had pulled himself together and let his chirpy Thai friend drag him into the locker room for their shift at The Penalty Box (Detroit’s premiere adult entertainment establishment for a bad boy’s time-out, as the awful radio ad always rattled off.)

“Just wait until you see the crowd tonight,” his roommate sang with an impish grin plastered across his face. Phichit was acting weird. Weirder than usual, weird. “Have you been drinking tonight?,” Yuuri questioned as he leaned over where his friend was now attempting to apply mascara. “Hell no!" The younger swatted Yuuri out of his obstructive position in front of the mirror. "You know I would never break a pact!”

Of course he hadn’t been. His roommate was an incredible friend. After Yuuri had royally fucked up six months ago and gotten plastered the night before an important exam, he’d sworn off alcohol altogether. Phichit had joined in solidarity. After arriving late to the exam and then having to take the test while still really, really drunk, he’d ended up failing the course which tanked his GPA, and put his scholarship on suspension.

He really should give his pal more credit where credit is due. After Yuri’s financial assistance was gone, he was no longer able to afford the expenses that come with a coach, rink fees, tuition, and time at the pole studio that replaced his traditional weight training. Determined to help his friend in the pursuit of hanging onto his skating career, Yuuri's roommate had made a suggestion. “Keep the pole practice, but get paid for it instead. We’ll do it together. I have a friend who used to work at the club downtown!”

And that’s how the two of them ended up spending four nights a week shaking their ass for cold, hard cash. The flexible schedule and substantial income had allowed them both to fund their skating careers, academic endeavors, and send money back home to their respective families. That feeling of financial freedom had quickly offset any bit of stigma or shame that he’d initially felt about his recent job title.

Much to his own surprise, Yuuri had ended up being pretty damn good at it. His natural rhythm and grace give him the stage presence to catch customers’ attention, and the rest of it is smile, eye contact, and sales. It’s liberating, it lines his pockets, and for once he’s praised for some of his extra weight. It also helped that most of it boils down to turning on a character. It's a lot like performing on the ice in that way.

Even though they were supposed to be slipping into their work personas, the younger of the two’s behavior was still unsettling to Yuuri. It was like Phich knew something he didn’t, and that he had absolutely no intention of sharing whatever goldmine of information he’d stumbled upon.

“Stop looking at me like that and get ready for your own stage set,” Phichit chirped as he applied a wet-look highlight powder to his face and body. “Did you not hear the DJ call Eros next?”

Yuuri rolls his eyes as he pulls a white dress shirt up over his shoulders. “I had planned on pretending that I didn't, but thanks.” He sighs deeply in an attempt to steel himself against his usual pre-performance jitters and hopes that the effort of coming into work this evening pays off.

 

\-----------

 

As Eros steps out onto the stage to the rumble of a seductive bassline for his usual routine, his heart stops as he spots a silver flash of hair at the end of the stage. Living legend, 5-time Men’s Figure Skating champ, and his celebrity crush of the last 10 years, Victor fucking Nikiforov is seated front and center while chatting with Christophe Giacometti.

He immediately turns, heading for the spray bottle of rubbing alcohol and a towel set near the back of the stage. Maybe by the time he’s done cleaning the pole he’ll wake up from whatever nightmare or wet dream he seems to have fallen into.

When the chrome is sparkling and he’s sure he can’t procrastinate anymore, Yuuri turns to see that – yep – he’s still there. And now he’s staring.

He two options. He can either flee from the stage in an absolute fit of panic, or he can try to feed into the delusion that this is actually happening. He grasps the pole for stability, closes his eyes, and does what he always does when panic starts to set it at work; tries to tune it out, tune the music in, and turn Eros on.

The initially timid stripper who's just started his set instantly commands the attention of a set of cerulean eyes. Victor had agreed to accompany Chris to the strip club as a celebration for the Swede finishing his graduate thesis this past week. (How Christope had managed to complete a graduate degree and keep his competitive edge in the men’s figure skating circuit, he’d never know.) The idea of an outing had been a nice distraction from Victor’s own graduate studies. They’d already enjoyed their brief time here by casually tipping, drinking, and admiring the show.

But the second this adorable Asian boy, Eros, starts to move on stage, Victor is head over heels. The man can’t find his sense or his money fast enough.

The dancer’s natural musicality is apparent as he seems to float around the length of cool metal. He begins to unbutton the baggy dress shirt he’s wearing, revealing what Victor knows must be an athlete’s body with just a hint of stubborn plumpness around his tummy and hips. He does an effortless pirouette around the pole, bumps his hip up against it to the beat. Victor can see the background of a danseur in his lithe legs.

The dark-haired angel then sheds his shirt and climbs the pole with such fluidity that it takes Victor a moment to realize that he's left the ground. As Victor throws his first set of tips onto the stage he badly wants to shower the babe with money, attention, and affection. The control in the way his body drops and spins into various shapes is a breathtaking display of power. Impressive strength and flexibility are visible in his beautiful, purposeful movements.

Victor finds himself yearning for those incredible thighs wrapped around his head instead of that lucky pole. He watches as the dancer pulls himself the rest of the way up to the ceiling in a succession of practiced grips. The thought of being lifted and thrown around by those toned arms has Victor ready to sport a wedding band in the same fashion he'd like to have the exquisite dancer – quite literally wrapped around his finger(s.)

Maneuvering the pole behind his shoulder, the entertainer tucks his knees towards his chest and inverts himself against the metal. Victor's breath hitches as he watches him engage his core and unfurl outwards, hands leaving the pole. It looks like gravity has pulled a 180 as the dancer, Eros, lays with his back to the ceiling. He shoots Victor a sly grin and mouths what looks like “don’t take your eyes off me.” Victor is absolutely smitten. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

Victor’s heart stops as their eye contact is broken when Eros suddenly free falls down the two story pole. Before reaching the bottom he curls in on himself and abruptly stops safely just a few feet above the floor. Victor can't help the way his face lights up at the drama of it all as his lungs refill with air. "Amazing!"

The air around the stages erupts with flying bills and cheers, which remind Victor exactly where he’s at, and it kicks his competitive streak into high gear. He tosses several of his own fans of money into the air with flourish.

In contrast to the death defying feat, the enchanting stripper drops himself delicately to the floor. He spins a few times before languidly setting his feet wide apart, letting his weight fall back into the pole tucked between his shoulder blades. One hand reaches over his head to grip onto the metal behind him as the other finds its way softly to his neck. His silhouette is undeniably gorgeous. Victor can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to press love bites into that beautiful length of flesh.

Eros leans into the stable structure, falling into synch with the music with lewd rolls of his hips. The fingers against his skin sensually travel down his collarbone towards his chest, skirting a perky nipple before diving over his ribs. They travel slowly down his abdomen, tracing a neatly trimmed treasure trail of dark hair below his navel. Victor can’t help but lick his lips at the sight. Slender thumbs hook under the waistband of the black pair of boyshorts before tugging them down to reveal red, skimpy, strappy underwear that – in Victor’s opinion – hug the man in all the right places.

He watches as his nearly naked form sinks to the floor. He feels his trousers tighten further as the beauty tosses back his lush head of raven hair, eyes falling shut, as his hands splay out onto the stage behind him. The dancer’s soft chest pushes forward and his tight back bows. He brings deft fingers up to tease at his own nipples in an outrageously erotic display.

His gaze snaps back to meet Victor as he spreads his legs further and grabs at the inside of thighs. From here Victor can see the obvious outline of his cock and his mouth floods with the desire for the pulsing weight of something he knows it can't have.

Eros slowly performs a lithe, panther-like crawl towards the edge of stage, settling right in front of where Victor is now standing. His upper body dives toward the stage, chest first, pushing his ass out and up wantonly. Chestnut eyes flicker down to Victor's trousers as the smaller man purrs, "Maybe you have something special for me?"

It's clearly part of his routine. Victor still has at least some semblance of where he is. The dancer stretches into the position, catlike, and bats his lashes up at Victor. Then Eros does some sort of magic with his hips which sends his ass into a hypnotizing shake. The flesh bounces back to the beat as if was the result of a different kind of thumping rhythm –

"Maybe you have something that would make me feel really, really good?" the performer keens the last two words. ‘Fuck.’

The sharp snap of a garter strap followed by a breathy gasp serve as Victor's reminder. Ah – right. The cash. The logical part of Victor's head knows he's just playing the game, but the head in his pants is ready to drop his skating career and give the boy anything he could ever ask for. He's a vision with booty pushed high, back exaggeratedly arched, and temple pressed to the floor. His dark gaze burns hot at Victor from under heavy lids as he spits the order through a naughty smirk, "fucking give it to me, Victor."

The Russian feels his last bit of sanity flee his brain and head straight for his cock. He tucks the rest of the cash in his hands into the garter strap across Ero’s thigh before dipping into his jacket and tearing the seal on the next stack of bills. He immediately tucks half of the new inventory into a strap that cups just below one of Yuuri's full cheeks. He follows the deposit with a stolen caress across the plump flesh.

A pleased hum leaves the entertainer as he rises to his knees. Warm hands travel up the material of Victor's crisp shirt before snaking their way across his collar to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Full lips press themselves close to his ear and the heat of the minx’s breath sends a shiver down his spine. "Thank you, gorgeous. I really loved that." He knows it's probably just part of the script, but the endearment only pulls Victor deeper. "I think I really love you," he manages as a gravelly reply. The comment catches Eros off guard. His eyes go wide for a split second before his hands return to his own mouth and he tips his head back in a sweet, hearty laugh.

Victor seizes the opportunity to lift the remaining bills high over them both, "Stunning, Zolotse." He thumbs at the stack of cash; sending a steady cascade of fluttery paper kisses down the beautifully bare torso. Yuuri's laugh halts at the sensation – a damn shame, really – and icy blues capture him through a curtain of light hair.

Victor can feel the scorch in his own body, so he lets what he knows must be a thoroughly flushed face and wrecked expression drive his next statement home. "After this," He growls in his heavily accented English, "You come and find me. Tonight, you are mine." Then in an act of unprecedented self-restraint he tears himself away from the stage to head towards the bar where Chris has migrated. From there he upholds his unspoken promise of watching the dancer finish his time on stage while Victor finishes off two shots of luxury vodka.

 

\-----------

 

By the time Yuuri’s finishes his set, collects his money from the bouncer who helped him sweep the stage, and freshens up in the back, Victor is already paid up and secured for their champagne room. Yuuri has no idea what to expect from this interaction, other than a chilled bottle of Armand de Brignac Brut and the most self-indulgent evening of his life.

He emerges from the dressing room, clad in his shirt and boyshort ensemble again and he instantly spots Victor’s iconic hair by the bar. He paces near the stage for a few minutes before finally bolstering the courage to go speak to him, one on one.

As he approaches, Victor's face breaks into a devious grin. Yuuri somehow feels like he’s walking into the trap of a lifetime. Once he’s close enough for the whole height difference thing to settle in, reality hits Yuuri like a truck. He feels his hands start to shake as he realizes that he’s actually standing in front of his lifelong proffessional hero. That he’s about to get naked in front of his lifelong professional hero.

He places a hand on the athlete’s arm to steady himself as he leans in close enough to be heard over the obtrusive music "You booked a VIP room?" Yuuri knows he sounds nervous and shy.

That sharp, glittering smile beamed towards him only serves to send the dancer closer to cardiac arrest as the knockout replies, “Eros, right? My name’s Victor, but it would appear you already know.” All Yuuri can do was duck his face and nod in an attempt to hide how fast he his face was flushing red.

"I've been assured that for the next hour I have it, and you, all to myself." Yuuri's gaze flickers to the man’s large, well-kempt hands as he nervously and gingerly reaches to take it into his own. “Uh, right this way, Victor.”

He guides him back into the VIP area. The room is sultrily dark and masculine, with low intimate lighting and a large leather loveseat. The sofa is fledged by a table hosting a bucket with their exorbitantly priced iced champagne along with two delicate flutes. The music still comes through clearly, but it isn't nearly as loud. They can communicate much more comfortably in the space.

“I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to walk me through it,” Victor croons with a wink. “There's a place to hang your jacket and empty your pockets if you'd like," Yuuri motions to a small coat wrack and a side table, where an empty crystal bowl sits alongside the bucket containing their chilled bottle of booze.

Victor quickly sheds his jacket, empties his pockets, and is now left in his fitted dress shirt – no tie, unbuttoned slightly, which Yuuri finds unbelievably laid-back and hot – and his well-tailored slacks.

“If you’d like we can start with drinks and you could tell me a little about yourself,” at least this bit is part of the script. Yuuri isn’t sure that he can string together a coherent original thought right now. He shakily fills both flutes and passes one to his celebrity crush as they both take a seat.

Yuuri nearly inhales his champagne in his attempt to down the drink as quickly as possible. 'Fuck it.' He’s breaking the drinking pact tonight. Phichit would have to understand. He quickly fills as second glass and destroys it just as speedily as the first while Victor rambles on airily about his day.

As if Yuuri could focus on the conversation anyway. He’s just ready to start dancing. Anything to cut the tension he’s feeling. It’s always so much easier to process his emotions through movement. However, he can’t deviate from the routine, and he has to set some ground rules first, Living Legend Nikiforov or not.

"So, in order for you to get the absolute best experience,” he starts. “I always like to go over some rules first.” He gets out of his seat to start the dance. He’s able to better turn on the charm when he’s able to move in time to the music. Nothing too distracting though until a thorough understanding is reached. “This will be more enjoyable for all parties if we're both comfortable," he pushes aside his nerves for this bit. Eye contact is always integral for this part of the conversation.

"That means respecting all of my boundaries, no touching me unless I tell you to first." This time the speech feels so much more disingenuous. This spiel was designed for run of the mill clients; men who are usually the last individuals on Earth who Yuuri would want to be touched by. But, with Victor as his patron, he honestly wants nothing more than the Olympian to bend him across the arm of the sofa and man handle him into whatever position he pleases. 

As his confidence grows and he starts to feel more like Eros, he mentally picks his script back up, he sinks to his knees between Victor's legs, and peers up at him through thick, dark lashes. "If you're a good boy, I promise I'll touch you plenty enough for the both of us. I'll make sure we each enjoy this to the fullest. Understand?" Victor nods down at him as a deep blush creeps across his pale cheeks and his hands settle diligently at his own sides.

"Good," Yuuri smiles up sweetly at him. He gently strokes his hands over the expensive fabric of the designer pants for a few moments before rising to his feet with a few sensual sways of his body. In one smooth motion, he straddles one of Victor's thighs.

He begins to unbutton his own shirt and attempts to push away any bit of insecurity that tries to flare. ‘He’s already seen you. He paid to be here. Remember, he wants you.’ Even in his own head it sounds ludicrous.

He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the beat, concentrating on moving slowly and remembering to explore his own body. He lets his hands travel across his own waistline. He backs away from his client again as he starts to get lost in the song. His hands skim up his torso and find their way into his own hair. He combs his fingers through the brushed-back style, mussing it up just enough to stay in place, but look bedroom worthy.

He then moves his hands back down to the band of his briefs and he continues to gyrate. He hooks his thumbs into the material and slowly peels it down and away. He steps out of the shorts and back into Victor’s space to hover over his other thigh. His heart is hammering in his chest again at the site of the absolute vision in front of him.

Emboldened by the hungry delight on Victor’s face, Yuuri presses his hands flat to the other man’s chest. It's feels firm and sculpted through the material of the shirt. Despite the anxiety, he feels his cock start to come to life. With closed lids and a sigh, he resigns himself to his fate of thoroughly embarrassing himself by revealing just how thirsty he really is for the guy.

He moves to sit fully on Victors lap, effectively straddling him backwards. The break from looking at his beautiful face feels like a godsend. Yuuri’s not sure he could take it much longer. He gives a tentative test grind against his walking, breathing, fantasy and the resulting noise that leaves the Russian is the most erotic thing he’s ever heard.

The little moan ignites something inside himself that Yuuri didn’t know existed. ‘This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Do it.’

He let's his hands rest over top of Victor's, taking them in his own and guiding them up onto his thighs. "Since you're being such a darling, I think it's only fair that I let you have some extra fun." ‘That's it. Convince him you're the one giving him the favor. Let him know he’s an exception.’

With a deep sigh, Yuuri lets his head fall back onto Victor's shoulder and prays that his breathy tone comes off as seductive instead of betraying his nervous excitement. "If you want, you can touch me like this... here," he drags his hands up and across his thighs encouraging Victor to give a little squeeze "and here," he guides them up across his hips to his abdomen, running Victor's fingers up his stomach to grab his chest.

"And if you can play nice," he turns his face into Victor's neck, trading him a little nuzzle for a seductive sigh, "you can spank." He feels the invitation go straight to Victor's cock. "Gently. Understand?" 

A frantic nod and the most awed little, "Yes, please" ghosts its was out of him. "Good," he coos back so sincerely.   
Victor’s hands are tantalizing and they graze over his form. They tickle seductively at his abs, across his pecks, against his neck, over his sensitive nipples. Yuuri can’t help the little moan that escapes as he melts against the Olympian and grinds down harder. He can feel the man’s cock, already so hard, and Yuuri has never wanted anything more in his life.

Lips ghost the back of his neck in a tentative test. The softness makes Yuuri shiver and he can’t help but lean into the touch. Then there's more. A soft, open mouthed kiss pressed to his skin sends a jolt down Yuuri's spine straight into his pelvis. This is definitely breaking his own rules. It isn't the first time someone's tried to taste him during a dance, but it is the first time that Yuuri has no intention of scolding them for it. He’ll just let this one slide.. Just this one instance. It's probably time he switch up the position anyway. 

He moves to spread himself lengthwise across the loveseat, languidly draping himself across Victor's lap, lengthening his frame by leaning into the position. A set of firm hands caress the back of his thighs softly and he thinks about how good those long graceful digits would feel wrapped around his cock or pressed up against his prostate. He does that little trick where he arches to give the best view of his booty and – SMACK. “Ah!,” he can’t stop the loud moan from leaving his lips. There's that delicious little sting he'd been hoping for.

Precum floods his skimpy underwear and he is grateful more than ever that dancer bottoms come double lined. He instantly wants another tap, although he'd rather get it while Victor is buried to the hilt in him. Yuuri's almost positive he's died and gone to heaven until an "I'm so sorry- fuck," brings him back into self-awareness. "Is that okay? Was it too rough?" 

He realizes he's been laying in this position for too long. ‘It's a dance, remember?’ He begrudgingly makes himself shift from the Russian's lap back onto his feet.

“No, it was nice. I, uh, actually really enjoyed that,” he bites his lip in an attempt to keep from embarrassing himself by saying anything more. He dances sensually, moving away again to ground himself in the music and to regain some of his composure before he absolutely loses his shit. 

He gives himself a couple of bars of the song to gather his thoughts before he slinks back onto the man's lap to face him this time. Victor is picture perfect. Light locks gently tousled, flush spread across his fair face and down his long neck. From this close Yuuri can count the faint freckles flecked across his idol's pink cheeks. Sweet, tiny specks of pigment that no publication or broadcast ever captures.

Victor now has one hand splayed across the dancer's hip, and the other resting softly against the side of his neck. His smooth lips are parted slightly as his chest heaves with what appears to be the effort of restraint. Yuuri wants nothing more than to kiss him, messy and deep. It would be so effortless to lean it and take what he's wanted for the last 10 years. He has the discipline of a professional athlete and the well-enforced boundaries of a smart sex-worker, but in the heat of the moment, the empowering dynamic of his workplace only serves to fan his bravery and fuel his desire. He's here to put on a show, goddamnit. He's going to make sure Victor Nikiforov remembers this.

Shifting his weight, he places his palms on the other's knees, ass slotted against Victor's crotch, and leans back. He lets his hips find the rhythm of the baseline and finds himself falling into one of his recurring teenage fantasies. He grinds himself on his dream man in the exact way he would without the layers of fabric and complexity of the situation between them. He feels the strong hands on his body tighten their grip, "okhuyénno óchen' khoroshó. (1.)"

Yuuri doesn't need to know what it means for the timbre in that string of Russian to go straight to his dick, and spread out on display like this, he knows Victor can see. Suddenly emboldened by his little exhibitionist streak, Yuuri guides Victor's hands to rest on his thighs and elegantly lifts a leg, pointing out through his toes, before draping it softly over Victor's shoulder. He arches his back and traces his finger past his navel and along the line of his own erection, blue irises tracking his every move.

His client's hands dart to grip the back of the couch and Yuuri hears as the man's dress shoes plant themselves firmly against the floor. Eyes squeezed shut, Victor shakes his head back and forth. "No more touching," he bites out through gritted teeth. Yuuri can feel the shape of his hard cock pulsing through the soft material of his suit pants. "I'll get myself in trouble." Yuuri's seen that look before. It almost looks a guy about to lose his last shred of his self control. It's not an uncommon sight for a strip joint, but he's never seen anyone make it look quite so adorable. 

"Oh, I get it." He giggles and slides his other leg up onto Victor's free shoulder. "You aren't about to ruin those expensive trousers, are you Mister Nikiforov?" It's meant purely as flirty banter. If the man is anything in person like he is on the ice, then Yuuri's confident that the person underneath him is just being dramatic and playing up the mood. Though Yuuri can't help but crave to know what might make him annul the 'no more touching' decision.

"Let's find something else to occupy your hands then." Yuuri pulls himself up out of the disorienting position and saunters over to the table to pour another flute of bubbles. He deposits it in Victor's hand before resuming his performance.

Everything heads south as soon as Victor misses his own mouth as he tilts back his glass. The light liquid trickles down his jaw, down his neck, onto the small exposed area of his chest. Brain inhibited by adrenaline, lack of bloodflow, and the tiniest buzz of alcohol, Yuuri can't control the impulse.

He leans in and licks that path of booze from his skin. When he reaches Victor's face their eyes meet, momentarily, the sexual tension palpable. In a flash Victor surges forward and locks their lips. For a moment Yuuri completely loses himself. Loses all sense of where he is, what he's supposed to be doing, and exactly how much trouble he's about to get himself in. He loses himself to the wet heat of Victor's tongue and the burning sensation of his lips. It's more than he could've ever fathomed. They kiss hungrily, Yuuri's fists bunched in his open collar and Victor's hands full of his ass. They rut senselessly against each other until Yuuri pants out between presses of their mouths "Ah, Victor- Sweetheart, we can't." At that, Victor breaks away to burry his face into Yuuri's neck with a muffled a groan. The dancer knows he needs to put some distance in between the two of them and fast. Right as he begins to shift off of him the alarm from his phone chirps, signaling the end of their time together. Yuuri is both relieved and disheartened.

 

\-----------

 

Chris spies the little dark-haired dancer first. He slinks out from behind the curtain of one of the VIP rooms, motioning and speaking quickly over his shoulder before bolting for the dressing room in the back. He hadn't bothered to get fully dressed, open shirt messily hanging from his shoulders and briefs clenched in hand. Unusual and perhaps a bit unprofessional in Chris' opinion. 

Victor emerges a couple of minutes later. He looks dazed with his face and neck beet red. He's sporting a big, goofy grin and has his fingers and lips are pressed to the flashy gold of a pricey bottle of wine. He makes a bee-line for Chris. "Attendez vous s'il vous plaît, (2.)" he mutters as he thrusts the bottle of brut into his friend’s grasp, before heading straight for the men's room. 

He returns approximately ten minutes later looking a hell of a lot more put-together. Chris can’t help but shake his head. "You really nut in your own pants like a fucking teenager? Oh, mon cher." Chris had taken off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. "Such a strip club faux pas. At least tell me you left the poor boy a hefty tip to make up for the inconvenience?" 

"Of course I did!!! I gave him every cent I had.” His face starts to pinken again as he realizes what else he's been put on blast for. “I just couldn't help it. I was close before, but then there was kissing, and he called me sweetheart... I knew I was a goner."

"You are so stupidly soft. How cute. Of all things, you would come from a fucking pet name – Wait. Did you just say he KISSED you?" The Swiss skater runs a hand through his hair. "This place has really gone to hell since I stopped working here. Doesn't anyone train these baby strippers anymore?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language Notes:
> 
> 1\. So fucking good.
> 
> 2\. Please, wait.


	2. A Lifetime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cheesy chapter titles. I’m still fresh to this whole fic thing.  
> This is purely p/orn. I hope you enjoy!

Some people meet their future spouse at a bar, others at the grocery store. Some partners meet through a dating app or through a friend. But then again, when has Yuuri’s life ever really felt ‘normal?’ He would meet the love of his life nervous, buzzed and mostly-naked at work.

The security of the environment, the comfort of his stage persona, and the outrageously pricey booze had all come together to serve Yuuri well in his night of unabashed connection. He had learned that evening that despite his ethereal appearance, Victor Nikiforov is, after-all, only human. Not a poster or a digital image, but flesh and blood. A mortal man with a generous spirit, an effervescent laugh, and a big fucking dick.

Even so, it came as a huge surprise to Yuuri that Victor didn’t run when he showed up to their blind date a few weeks later decked out in his glasses and an oversized parka. Phichit and Chris has conspired to set up the encounter, and while Victor was overjoyed, Yuuri’s nerves made him panic at the thought of being close to him. He wasn’t meeting Victor as Eros this time, he was meeting him as Yuuri.

Outside of the land of pay for play and sexy make-believe, where the lighting isn’t specifically chosen to frame him in a magnificently misleading way, he thought it would be a complete train wreck. There was also the fear of being seen as an object instead of a person. Just a sexual box to check off a bucket list. Permanently defined as a slut by his job choice. 

He figured he be unrecognizable, and he was at first. But Victor with his passion, his light-heartedness, and his quick-wit, had proven every one of Yuuri’s doubts so, so wrong. Even through both of their nerves and the weird ‘only one of us has seen the other naked’ aura, he’d managed to make a connection with Yuuri. When Yuuri shied away, Victor met him in the middle. 

They talked about skating and poodles and their favorite color. They talked about lots of things, but Victor never asked him talk about the club. 

When the second date happened, it almost felt normal. The sexual tension strung tighter with the development of deeper feelings. With each following date, things became less surreal. It all began to feel less like fantasy and more like partnership.

 

\---

 

Victor hears the familiar sound of a sport coat hitting the floor. Yuuri has shed his jacket which is not an uncommon occurrence when he drinks. Normally Victor would be glued to his husband the entire evening, but this is a special occasion. A surprise party for their third wedding anniversary, put on by their matchmakers aka their best friends. 

The next time Victor looks over, his cuffs are unbuttoned, and his sleeves rolled. Nothing too risque. A few minutes and another glimpse later reveal that his tie is missing, the tell-tale sign that his husband is in ‘a mood.’ This is where his self-control starts to slip. By the time Yuuri’s first few shirt buttons are open, Victor says their goodbyes before throwing his smaller husband over his shoulder and barreling for the car.

 

\---

 

Yuuri hasn't done this for Victor in so long. He's discovered over the years that Yuuri only recreates this particular fantasy when he's had a little too much to drink or he's in the mood to get absolutely ruined. Yuuri claims its more the latter. That hearing the word “husband” so many times in one night has sent his libido into overdrive.

Victor mouths at Yuuri’s neck as he fumbles to get their door open. Once inside, the corridor is darker and more quiet than usual. He makes a mental note to thank Yura later for watching both of the dogs for the weekend. Yuuri guides them through the entryway as they fidget about and giggle. Marriage has done nothing to dull the fact that they’re still love-struck idiots. 

Their shoes are abandoned by the door, and the contents of their pockets haphazardly thrown on the side table. Yuuri focuses intently on his phone for a moment before a song starts to bleed through the Bluetooth speaker system in the kitchen, warming the space.

Yuuri starts to dance playfully around Victor. He runs his fingertips delicately across his neck and ears, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He saunters over to the table and grabs one of the dining chairs, sliding it out into the open expanse of the room.  

Yuuri bats his dark lashes. “Mr. Katsuki-Nikiforov, I’ve been told you have a reserved spot in VIP this evening.” He wraps his fist in Victor’s tie and yanks downward to manipulate his husband into the seat. Victor eagerly complies with a low grown. If it were possible, the affectionate gaze aimed at his Yuuri would mirror his pupils into the same endearing symbol as his heart-shaped mouth. 

Leaning over to his eye-level, Yuuri tugs on the fabric, leaving Victor face a hair’s breadth from his own. “Do you need a refresher on the rules? You did have such a hard time following them your last visit..” His fingers skim across Victor’s collar before slipping themselves into the knot of his tie. Making quick work of the fabric, he pulls it from his neck, the silk sending a chill down the Russian’s spine as it ghosts across his skin.

“And which rule was that?” Victor coos. He’s playing coy, but he knows what he’s asking for. Yuuri gives him a sweet smile as he bends at the waist to lean over Victor’s lap. He begins firmly securing his husband’s hands behind his back with the fabric, taking much more time than Victor knows he needs. He’s pressing their bodies together in a tantalizing tangle. Yuuri has restrained him enough in their time together that Victor knows he’s just teasing at this point. Yuuri is very clever with his knots.

Not that Victor minds. From this angle he’s got an exceptional view of the way Yuuri’s custom tailored pants (acquired at Victor’s insistence) accentuate his glorious butt. Victor can feel the heat radiating off of him. His face inches from his throbbing cock. He’s been hard from the moment he realized where this night was ultimately going.

"No touching the dancers,” Yuuri punctuates the statement with the final tug that tightens the make-shift rope. “We’re short staffed on bouncers tonight, so I’m just taking precaution to prevent any issues."

He moves away to turn his back to Victor and rest his hands across the countertop. Victor feels his pulse quicken in anticipation. God, he loves watching Yuuri make music with his body. His natural talent and rhythm always get him so damn hot. 

With a seductive glance over his shoulder, Yuuri slips his belt off first. Slowly pulling the leather from the loops as he sways his hips. Victor can feel his mouth start to water. This little game gets to him every time. 

Yuuri spins around and the shirt is the next to go, one agonizing button at a time. He takes a moment to feel himself up, teasing at his nipples and tracing up the hint of a treasure trail of hair that graces his lower belly.

Finally it’s time for the pants. Yuuri’s being a little brat, drawing down the zipper tooth by tooth. Victor’s breath hitches when he gets the first glimpse of his undergarment. Royal blue boyshorts, rose lace giving little glimpses of the skin underneath. Victor’s so weak for the nostalgia of those blue roses. 

Yuuri slinks into his lover’s lap. Straddling his hips and looping his arms around his neck. “Who would’ve thought I’d luck out so much tonight?” the younger man purrs. “Handsome, wealthy, and well-hung.” His lips quirk up at that last little bit. “Who says work has to be a chore?” 

Before Victor has the chance to grind into the gorgeous guy in his lap, Yuuri is up and back on his feet. He does a few contemplative laps around the chair. His movements and the look in his eye reminding Victor of a panther ready to pounce. 

He stops directly behind him. The mid-century design of their dining chairs leaves him at the perfect height for Yuuri’s next little trick. He drapes one leg over Victor’s shoulder, his socked foot falling gently to rest against the top of his thigh. 

Victor’s head falls back as a throaty noise escapes his lips. Yuuri notices the small, dark, wet spot that blooms near his toes where his husband is starting to leak through his pants. "Darling, you're far too easy," he tuts.

“I can’t help it when you play dirty,” Victor grits from clenched teeth. “You drive me crazy and you fucking know it.” He’s pushing all of his buttons, taking him apart in the most frustrating and delicious way.  

Yuuri takes back his foot, and when he walks around to front, he’s lost his underwear along the way. Shame. Victor does love watching the fabric hug across his cheeks when he strips himself of a pair of panties. 

His back is to Victor again, giving him a stunning view of the expanse of his back, and the globes of his ass. With legs spread, Yuuri does a graceful bend towards his toes and ah- what a naughty little surprise. He’s exposing a pretty blue plug and Victor can’t help but worry his lip as he watches the sweet pucker, glistening with lube as it pulses around the toy. Yuuri brushes his fingers against it, and a soft moan escapes his lips.  

“I had to watch you all night, Victor.” Another push against the plug, a drawn out moan this time. “I had to watch you look so fine that it’s plain unfair.” He’s broken character and Victor could not care less. “I had to talk to so many people while I was stuffed full.” He throws a wrecked look over his shoulder. “Do you know how hard it is to hold a conversation about home renovations when all I can think about is riding your thick cock?” He sighs longingly. “Complete torture.” Complete and utter torture. Victor can currently relate.

Yuuri backs up slowly and settles on his lap. From this position Victor can peer over his shoulder and down his chest. His cock is reaching towards his navel and dripping onto the soft retirement weight that’s settled across his stomach and hips. Victor wants nothing more in this world than to touch. He’s so hard that he knows Yuuri can feel every ridge of his dick through his Versace trousers.

A tiny little whine. "Maybe you have something that would make me feel really, really good?" What a little minx. He knows exactly what familiar lines to pull to snap at Victor’s self control. He’s rocking back against him now. Moans coming in little ‘ahs’ and pants. His hand circles his own cock and Victor’s watching him so intently that he feels he’s going to burst. In that tone he long ago committed to memory, comes the precious, evocative words, "Give it to me, Victor."

A growl tears its way out of Victor’s chest. He’s bucking up against Yuuri as he grinds mercilessly down against his lap. Head lolling back onto Victor's shoulder, he gasps, "Fuck me." Every shift of his hips sends the plug shoving against his prostate, making precum drip down his shaft. 

The hand on Victor’s knee is in a bruising grip as Yuuri starts to whine. "Fuck me, Viten’ka. Ah! F-fuck me." 

Yuuri barely registers the sound of silk sliding against itself before he's bent over the kitchen countertop. He hears a zipper and keens at the feeling of a hand pressed firmly against his back. 

A moan is punched out of Yuuri as the plug quickly disappears and is replaced by the throbbing thickness of his husband.

Victor immediately sets a punishing pace. Pounding him hard into the counter. Yuuri’s hands are splayed across the backsplash as he pushes back to meet everything thrust. The music in the background is quiet, but Yuuri’s cries of pleasure are loud, the slapping of skin on skin is loud, and Victor figures he should add another note to the lewd symphony. 

A hand comes down hard on Yuuri’s ass and a guttural moan escapes him, pulled deep from his core. “M-motto, Vitya” he whimpers. A tsunami of satisfaction rolls over Victor as he successfully rails the English vocabulary out of him.  

Another spank falls hard on the other cheek, and Victor can tell from the pitch of the little “hai, hai, hais” falling from his lips that Yuuri is starting to tear up from pleasure. His thighs are shaking, and Victor knows he’s close. “Hmmn Yuuri. Are you gonna come on my cock?” 

Yuuri manages a frantic nod and a long drawn-out groan. His voice is ricocheting off the tile of the kitchen and it envelops Victor in an animalistic pride that shoots straight to his dick.

He hears a strained, bitten-off "Iku!" before Yuuri is spilling all over the granite, the lower cabinets, and the floor. 

He squeezes tight around Victor, and all the taller man can do is grip his hips tight and continue fucking him silly.

Yuuri reaches deep into the recesses of his hazy, post-orgasm brain to piece together the only English that’s important right now. He shoots a devious look over his shoulder before panting out, “Fill me up, _sweetheart_.” 

With a last sharp thrust, Victor doubles over as he fills Yuuri with every drop his body can muster. His orgasm knocks the breath out of him and both of their vision goes white for a moment.

They stand there for a few minutes, catching their breath and sighing out little “I love yous” until Victor summons the strength to give them a half-assed cleanup and move them to the sofa. 

They kiss lazily for a while, wrapped in a warm throw, heavily indulging in the one taboo that plagued them the night they met five years ago. 

Victor eventually breaks a kiss to give Yuuri a knowing look. “So, you messed up the knot on purpose, yes?” Yuuri rolls his eyes before leaning into Victor’s chest, letting a warm smile and a soft blush spread over his face. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation Notes:  
> Motto - More  
> Hai - Yes  
> Iku - I’m coming


End file.
